


Silver's Glowing

by penandpage



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Elvish, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penandpage/pseuds/penandpage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil, the Elvenking of Greenwood the Great, finds himself wed to a wild spirit who wanders at the whim of the wind and returns to his side only at the changing of the leaves as the world grows cold. He claims she is his only light and he lives in darkness until she is with him once more. The Lady of the Greenwood has little use for his melancholy, and less patience for it. As is her way, she refuses to sit idly, and takes matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver's Glowing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meritmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/gifts).



> Dedicated to a certain shining rainbow of a girl who brings endless light into my dull little world. Giliath sílant erin lû e-govaned vîn, Nina. Happy Birthday, even though I totally missed it by a lot. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also infinite thanks to my Starkles for being a top notch beta reader/editor/whatever you kids are calling it these days, and for being so patient with me while I wasn't very patient with her. I was a needy, jittery, nattering little insect, and she was an indulgent and unflappable rosebush. Go read her things because she is better than me in literally every single way:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/SHCombatalade/pseuds/SHCombatalade
> 
> Also also, here is an accompanying playlist.  
> http://8tracks.com/penandpage/silver-s-glowing
> 
> Please enjoy!

* * *

 

     Annuraen strode through the hallways of the palace. She would never admit it if asked, but she searched for him. She traveled far and wide, and would cease for no living thing’s desire but her own, and yet she had met not a single wonder more magnificent than the Prince of the Greenwood. When away, her thoughts concerned him often, much to her own vexation. She slept beneath stars and wondered if he walked through the trees and looked upon the same patches of light that she did. Upon her every return to the Woodland Realm, she sought him out. She wished to spend her every waking moment alongside him, though she would steel herself against such overt affection. She loved him, this she knew. But to be the first to reveal this would be losing, and she enjoyed their game too well to let it end so soon; she wished for him to chase her awhile longer.

    She passed through every room in her hunt for him. Some were cold and dark, with no fires burning, for there was no presence that had need of them (least of all that which she sought). Others were warm and bright, filled with mirthsome faces wishing to greet her after her long absence. But these she had no time for. She was of singular mind, and would not be waylaid. Long she searched, deep into the night, until there was no sound in the vast halls but that of her own footsteps. At last she found him, reading and blissfully alone.

    She had nearly overlooked this room: A small, remote library, far from the rest of the palace wherein the people gathered and caroused. Here, too, no true fire burned, only embers glowing in the hearth, providing little warmth and less light. The room was not lightless, however, for large windows lined the far wall, the moon glowing silver across the floor, illuminating the one thing in this world she truly desired with all her heart. He sat with one leg outstretched, the other bent with his book propped against it. His long, pale hair flowed over his shoulders like water, adorned only with a simple sterling circlet (she had long suspected that he allowed naught but herself to braid his hair). He wore fine silks in grey and argent, perfectly fitted to his lithe figure. She was entranced by him, as always, and could do little but stare upon his splendid form from the threshold. He soon sensed her presence, however, and turned his gaze upon her. His grey eyes boring into her own returned her to her senses.

     “The others say you wear no gold when I am away,” Annuraen stated nonchalantly, not bothering to greet him. “Only silver.”

     “The others speak true,” Thranduil replied, returning to his book and turning the page.

     “Why is this so?” inquired Annuraen.

     “Because gold emulates the light of the sun,” explained Thranduil, closing the book. He rested one hand upon the cover and gestured with the other as he continued, “And for me, the sun does not rise unless you are there to greet it. Thus, I walk only by the light of the stars until you return.”

    Annuraen raised her eyebrows, grinned, and scoffed.

     “You walk among stars?” she gibed incredulously.

    Thranduil nodded once and surmised, “There are those who would believe this.”

     “And you? What does the Lord Thranduil believe?” asked Annuraen, strutting into the room. She approached him slowly and teased, “Tell me. Is’t so? Does my prince tread in the sky, dance among the constellations?” She took up a lock of his hair and ran her hand along it, chuckling, “Return to the earth with stardust in his hair?”

    Thranduil closed his eyes and smiled when she dropped his hair back on his face. He peered up at her, and she smiled too. He set aside his book, passed his tongue through his lips, and took her hand in his.

     “Only when I have not the sun to guide me,” he confided, kissing her knuckles tenderly.

     “Elenhir, then, shall I name you,” proclaimed Annuraen mockingly, rolling her eyes as she continued, “For a lord who walks among stars should be known as such.”

     “And Iavrunien shall I name you, she of the autumn sunrise,” Thranduil replied, and so solemn was he that her derisive manner was melted and her heart touched. She bowed and pressed a kiss to his brow.

     “May it be so.”

 

*****

* * *

*****

 

    Annuraen lay on her chaise with her hands resting delicately upon each other below her breast. Her legs were outstretched, nearly the full length of the chaise, but for one knee, gently bent and leaning against the other. She was surrounded by soft, silken sheets and cushions, nearly all the same shade of dark teal as the sheer gown she wore for sleep. She enjoyed the night air, cool against her flesh, sharp in her lungs. She took deep breaths through her nose to allow for the rich, earthy scents of the forest floor and wood smoke from the night fires mingling with that of the sweet blooming flowers overtop of the crisp, clean smell of the waters rushing through the city. Her hearing was perhaps somewhat muffled, with long tresses of chestnut hair pressed against her ears, but she could hear a nightingale singing outside of her room, her song playing against that of the fountain trickling behind her head, all underscored by the distant sound of a waterfall. She held her eyes shut for a time, silent and still, allowing the forest to permeate her senses.

    A new sound soon found her ears. At first, she thought it was wind whistling through trees, but she quickly realized, when she heard faint footfalls, that it was cloth dragging along the stone floor. She felt her heart race and her cheeks flush, and she knew her husband had at last left his duties for the day and come to rest in her arms. Thranduil walked past her and to the table next to the nearest window, upon which she knew lay a pair of goblets and a pitcher of fine wine. She heard him pour himself some of the drink, and sighed happily as the rich aroma reached her from the newly disturbed liquid. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled serenely as her vision adjusted to the light and she could focus on the starlit night beyond the interlaced boughs of their canopy.

     “Look! The stars dance for us this night!” Annuraen exclaimed when several stars took flight across the sky. “Meleth nín?” Thranduil did not answer. She glanced towards him, her attention still focused on the stars, and, a little more adamantly, called for his attention once more, “...Thranduil?”

    When he did not answer for the third time, Annuraen raised her head so as to look upon him in full. Her breath caught in her throat for only a moment; after all this time, she was still struck by the silhouette he cut standing in the frame of the window. He had removed his crown, his long silver hair flowing free over his shoulders. He wore a floor-length robe of a rich plum color with dark orange trimmings - colors she knew he wore for her benefit. He was tall and regal, possessing an otherworldly grace that she, in her vast travels, had observed in few of even their own kind. He seemed not to have heard her, staring out the window, clutching his goblet tightly but taking no drink from it. When Annuraen realized what in that direction could hold his attention so intently, she sat up on the edge of the chaise, her bare feet brushing against the cold stone floor.

     “Thranduil…” she sighed. “Why do you look to the East? Your eyes grow dim when they turn upon that fell land. The Enemy is defeated; there is nothing to fear.”

    Her husband was silent still, and she wondered if he had heard her at all. But then he whispered, _“Is_ the Enemy defeated?”

    Annuraen was taken aback. Eyelids fluttering, she stood and stepped quietly to his side.

     “Certainly he is,” she affirmed gripping his shoulder gently. “You were there when he fell. You know this.”

    Thranduil moved away from her, leaving her fingers to linger in the air as he stepped out from underneath them.

     “I am perhaps not so sure,” he coldly revealed.

    Annuraen stood staring at him. She did not understand how this could be so. Brows furrowed, she once again closed the distance between them, tersely asserting, “The War was won. His power was cut from him, his body was destroyed; his armies slaughtered, his fortress razed.” She took his hand in hers and held it close to her chest. More softly, she asked, “And still you believe he may yet do harm?”

    Thranduil turned his hand to stroke Annuraen’s knuckles with his thumb. He stared at their hands, brows pinched, not a sound passing his lips. He swallowed, and breathed, “I believe...that Morgoth was once thought defeated. And his return meant the destruction of the Two Trees...The theft of the Silmarilli...Death beyond the measure of counting…” He met her gaze, and she was shocked at the sadness in his eyes. His grip tightened around hers as he continued, voice raised, “I believe that his most loyal, trusted servant was his most powerful and cunning. I believe that I saw my father slain before me, for we thought our victory was assured. I will not underestimate him again. Evil is seldom so simply sundered.”

    Annuraen could feel him tremble as his face contorted with grief. He dropped her hand, turned his back to her, and drained his goblet. He set it back upon the table with little grace, the clang of it filling the room for a brief moment, startling her. He filled it again, and spoke with more gravitas, as though addressing his council and not his wife. “His power was taken from him, but it was not destroyed. Isildur of Gondor took the One Ring as weregild for his father’s death. It should have been cast into the flames of Orodruin. I believe that if it is allowed to persist, so, too, will the Enemy.” He took a bitter sip of wine, and finally set down his goblet. “I cannot find it in me to believe that he is truly gone. He will return.” He gripped the table tightly. His voice was strained, fading as he continued, “And when he does, I do not know if I have the strength to protect all that which I hold most dear.”

     “Elenhir…” gasped Annuraen. She stepped in front of him and, wide-eyed and bewildered, fixated her gaze upon his, regardless of how he tried to look away.

     “Yes, Iavrunien, I fear the Shadow of Mordor,” Thranduil admitted softly, taking her hands in his and holding them close to his breast. At last he met her gaze, and she could see little but torment within her husband’s eyes. He stroked her hands with his thumbs and whispered hauntedly, “I fear I cannot keep you safe. Cannot keep the Darkness from my people.”

     “Thranduil…” cooed Annuraen compassionately. She brushed hair away from his brow, and rested her palm against his cheek. “Elenhir nín, lasto beth nín. Gerig bal na berio waith lín. Gerig belt a golodh. Melig taur sen. Melig waith lín. Dúath ú-breitho ha.”

    Thranduil blinked hard, doubt flooding his face. He breathed, “Na man gûr cara isteg sen?”

    Eyes narrowing in amused incredulity, Annuraen gripped her husband’s hand tightly and assured him, “I will not _allow_ it. I will not let darkness take you from me.”

    A marveling look flashed across his eyes, but then Thranduil softened. He smiled, nestling his cheek into her touch.

     “Had you been with us upon the battlefield that day, there would be nothing left of Mordor to fear,” he teased, running his fingers through her hair.

    Annuraen smirked. “It would be little more than an ashen crater,” she boasted. “The children of Men would cast their pebbles over the edge to hear them clatter against the stone, and no uneasy thoughts would reach them, for not even the spirit of any foul thing would I leave.” She gripped his arm tightly. “Sauron has never known wrath such as mine.”

     “Ae, Iavrunien,” beamed Thranduil. Nevertheless, he paused, and his face fell. “And yet, you were not there.” He turned away. “And thus evil abides.”

    Annuraen was left standing bereft, dispirited, frustrated, staring as he glided away. She set her jaw, and strode to his side.

     “Is there naught which I might do to give you comfort?” she demanded. “There must be some way by which you may see light once more.”

    Never turning his gaze from the horizon beyond the widow, Thranduil quietly confessed, “I see light only when you are near.” Annuraen gaped briefly, and blushed deeply. Smiling, she was but a heartbeat away from embracing her beloved when he frigidly intoned, “...Tell me...Where shall you traverse this year?”

    Annuraen froze as though smote, and indeed, a strike across the face would have shocked less, would have hurt less. She knew as well as he did that the winter months were coming to a close. Spring would claw at her all too soon. Her love for him, strong, deep, and everlasting though it was, could do nothing to satiate her wanderlust. She shut her eyes and sighed bitterly. She pressed her lips together and pushed her tongue through, wetting them.

     “..Wherever the sun may lead,” she offered meekly, apologetically.

    Thranduil said nothing, his only utterance a soft, even, “Hmm.”

     “You…” began Annuraen, voice breaking. She swallowed away her tightening throat, and continued, “...could accompany me.”

     “Annuraen, you know that I cannot,” Thranduil admonished. “The forest needs me. Our people need me. I cannot abandon them.”

     “Then do not abandon them!” snapped Annuraen, blood rushing through her veins. “Leave a steward to protect them in your stead for a short while, as do the kings of Men! We do not have to make our journey long; you could return before the first leaf of Iavas falls.”

    Thranduil scoffed and traipsed away. Annuraen hounded his steps. She held her hands out before herself, imploring, “All I ask is that but once...you take this journey with me...Explore the world as we did in the summers of our youth. Let me take you far from here. Far away...to lands that the Shadow of Mordor has never yet touched.” Thranduil glanced at her pityingly, but with his brow cocked, Annuraen could see question in his gaze. She explained, “There are places where you can bathe in light, let it wash over you, fill you...remove the stain that war-thoughts have left upon your heart...if only for a time.”

    She thought hope crossed his eyes, but he shut them tightly and turned sharply away from her. She embraced him from behind, clutching his shoulders from beneath his arms, and rested her head upon his back. She choked, “It pains me...to see you wounded thus, meleth nín.” He leaned against her, crossing his chest to grasp her hand. She stood on her toes and set her chin on his shoulder, and she begged him, “Please...You must let me help you.”

     “You _cannot_ help me!” spat Thranduil, whirling around to face her once more, hair flying in his fury. “There is no cure for this poison.”

     “There _is_ a cure,” Annuraen declared calmly, and so resolute was she that Thranduil was given pause. He stood to his full height and yet dropped his shoulders, staring at her searchingly. She continued, vowing, “And I will find it. I will find it, if I must face dragons and decimate armies. I will dig through the soil of Arda or leave it behind. I will walk among the stars and bring them back to you! I will not let you fall into despair. I will not let this consume you.”

     “You speak of that which you know not,” Thranduil protested.

     “Much there is that I know that _you_ know not,” Annuraen reminded him.

    Thranduil recoiled, shamed by her tenacity in the face of his doubt. He turned to the window, scouring the stars with wonder in his eyes. Annuraen wrapped herself around his side and swept his hair over his ear.  

     “Elenhir, I wish only to relieve your burden,” she soothed, burying her face in the rich fabric of his robe.

     “Iston sen, meleth nín. Iston,” murmured Thranduil, pressing his temple against her crown.

    Slowly, gently, Annuraen peeled his robe away from his shoulders. She trailed kisses across his flesh, along his arm, his back, his neck, caressing his skin with her lips. She drew his face to hers, and he captured her mouth before she could have her chance to tease him. She grinned into his kiss as he enveloped her in his arms. They broke apart only for breath, and even then, they stood with brow pressed against brow. Staring into her beloved’s eyes, seeing joy only when they reflected hers, Annuraen understood with sudden clarity what must be done. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then took his hand and lead him across the room.

     “Come,” she commanded, returning to the chaise and pulling him down to join her. “Let us make some light of our own.”

 

*****

* * *

*****

 

    Annuraen woke from a deep slumber, her first thought that of how revitalized and fulfilled she felt. Her second was that she was empty. It was a strange sensation, to have a child grow inside herself for so long and then suddenly be alone. And it was sudden, the length and toil of the birth being of little meaning. She clutched at her belly, her chest tight with a pain she had not been warned of. She felt hot tears stab at her eyes, her longing to hold her child in her arms consuming all other thoughts.

     She opened her mouth, whether to weep or call for her maid, she knew not, but her choice was stayed. Hushed murmurs reached her ears, distracting her long enough to gain control. She could see her newborn’s face now, and her need to see that child grow, to learn to smile, to speak, overshadowed greatly any desire not to share. She turned towards the sound, and smiled broadly. At the window stood Thranduil, robed as gloriously as ever in green and gold, a perfect silhouette cut against the rising sun, whispering to the babe nestled in his arms.

    Annuraen stood slowly, cautiously, testing her own balance. When she was confident, she glided as quietly as she could to her husband, careful not to disturb the scene.

     “...sen na estant ‘orn,’” Thranduil was whispering, and he reached out to touch the tree that grew high above their chambers, teaching their son what it was called.

      _“Son,”_ Annuraen beamed silently. _“A boy. Tall as this tree will he grow, and strong, too. Our **son.”**_  

     “Sen na i las ned i orn,” Thranduil continued, fingering a leaf. He held the boy a touch higher, so he might see it. “Tírig? ‘Las,’ sui le.”

    Annuraen had stepped close enough to lean around his side, and see his smile. She had never seen so much love in his eyes, not even for her. Her heart swelled, and tears spilled over her cheeks.

     Thranduil plucked a nut from the tree and held it before the baby’s eyes, chuckling as he reached for it. He continued explaining, “Sen na i eredh ned i orn. I eredh tolant o i orn, sui le tolant o nana a nin.”

    At this, Annuraen wrapped her arms around the two of them, propping her chin on Thranduil’s shoulder and gazing upon their child, who was suckling at his father’s finger now.

     “‘Las,’ meleth nín? Am man theled e na sui las?” she queried, stroking the baby’s soft hair.

     “Aníron an estath ion vîn, ‘Legolas,’” Thranduil told her softly, touching his brow to hers and closing his eyes.

     “Leg-o-las,” Annuraen played with the sounds in her mouth. She leaned to kiss the babe’s head, smiling, and said again, “Legolas.” She turned her gaze to the skyline, the whole world laid out before them. She laughed, “Legolas! Ion vîn Legolas!”

    Thranduil nodded, tears shining in his eyes, smiling brightly to light the forest, and he agreed, “Ion vîn Legolas.”

    Their son, their Legolas, squeaked a yawn, and nuzzled into the warmth of his father's chest. His parents held him together and wept happily, their joy shining for the world to see.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> Annuraen - "Wanderer of the West" (annûn = west, also sunset; raen = wander, also a feminine suffix)  
> Thranduil - "Halls of Star-Shadow" (thrond = hall; du = shadow; il from el = star)  
> Elenhir - "Star-Lord" (elen = star; hir - lord)*  
> Iavrunien - "She of the Autumn Sunrise" (iavas = autumn; rûn = sunrise; ien = feminine suffix)  
> Legolas - "Green Leaf" (laeg = green; las = leaf)
> 
>  
> 
> "Elenhir nín, lasto beth nín. Gerig bal na berio waith lín. Gerig belt a golodh. Melig taur sen. Melig waith lín. Dúath ú-breitho ha."  
> My Elenhir, listen to my voice. You have the power to protect your people. You are wise and strong. You love this forest. You love your people. Darkness cannot break that.  
> [Lit: Star-lord mine, hear voice mine. You-have power to protect people your. You-have strength and wisdom. You-love forest this. You-love people your. Darkness no-break it.]
> 
> "Na man gûr cara isteg sen?"  
> For what reason do you know this?  
> [Lit: By what council do you-know this?]**
> 
> "Iston sen, meleth nín. Iston."  
> I know this, my love. I know.  
> [Lit: I-know this, love mine. I-know.]
> 
> "Sen na estant 'orn.' Sen na i las ned i orn. Tírig? 'Las,' sui le. Sen na i eredh ned i orn. I eredh tolant o i orn, sui le tolant o nana a nin."  
> This is named "tree." This is the leaf of the tree. Do you see? "Leaf," like you. This is the seed of the tree. The seed came from the tree, as you came from mama and me.  
> [Lit: This is named "tree." This is the leaf of the tree. You-see? "Leaf," like you. This is the seed of the tree. The seed came from the tree, like you came from mother and me.]
> 
> "'Las', meleth nín? Am man theled e na sui las?"  
> "Leaf," my love? Why is he like a leaf?  
> [Lit: "Leaf," love mine? For what purpose he is like leaf?]
> 
> "Aníron an estath ion vîn 'Legolas.'"  
> I wish to name our son "Legolas."  
> [Lit: I-desire to name son our "Legolas"]
> 
>  
> 
> * In my defense, I did not know that there was a superhero called Star-Lord when I made this name. I did the thing in, like, February. I didn't realize my mistake until months after GotG came out. I was too attached by then. I'm not changing it.  
> ** Yes, this is a bit clumsy. I tried really hard, but I couldn't find another way to say it. Please understand that Elvish is not a complete language, and my resources were extremely limited. I did the best I could.


End file.
